


Let Your Guard Down a Little

by JasnNCarly



Series: Jon Moxley (Dean Ambrose) & You [37]
Category: Professional Wrestling, WWE, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Tumblr, greygirlmoxley, wwe imagine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 22:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JasnNCarly/pseuds/JasnNCarly
Summary: Your doubts nearly consume you.





	Let Your Guard Down a Little

**Author's Note:**

> *(Y/B/N = Your baby’s name)

“I’ll be back. I just have to handle some business.” Dean said the words, kissing the head of you and your son, before he took a gym bag and went out the door. 

That was nearly four hours ago; you can’t help but let the whole incident bug you. He had been home, a grand total of one night, and he was already gone the next morning.

However, as you watch your baby boy bounce on all fours – a dare to chase his seven month old behind all over the child proof home - you distract yourself. His grey blue eyes shine as he giggles at your stance, his hair a shade darker than his daddy, and he begins to crawl away.

“Where are you going?” You question, octaves higher and almost cooing, as you race after him, savoring his loud laughter – a laugh so hard he trips then recovers to race you to the front door, “Get back here!”

The door opens slowly, stopping you and (Y/B/N). Dean crosses the threshold, sweaty and out of sorts, to look down at the two of you, “Apparently, I’ve missed all the fun.”

You stand to your feet as he drops his bag, closes the door, and collects his son in his arms, “Yeah…what took you so long?”

“Nothing, just some stuff had to get done today.”  His dismissal hurts you, but you just nod as he hands your son back to you, “I gotta shower.” 

———————————-

_It can’t be that, can it?_

You know the game, and the doubt eats at your gut. Maybe it was true…but you still needed just one friend to tell you it wasn’t paranoia. You were really being forgotten…cheated on…left. Dean had encouraged you to take a bath, yet another excuse to be away from you, and you hid out. Well past your son’s bedtime, draining and refilling the water once already, as you text frantic messages to your best friend. Finally, after much back and forth, you get her message.

_I’ve never known you to be quiet, just ask him point blank. If he is? Cut that bitch._

You want to laugh, but the tears prevent that from happening. How is the replacement? What’s she look like? Does she have any curve or had she never had his big headed baby to give her hips? Nope, that was just you – reduced to live in baby mama. 

Hugging your knees to your chest, your tears kill the last of your bath’s bubbles. It’s true. You had to be strong for you and your baby, ask him point blank if he was done with you. If you were going to be a year round single mother, you needed to prepare and – damn it - you were gonna make it work.

You must have known this was coming, subconsciously, as you had grabbed a pair of shorts and a slightly baggier white t-shirt. Perfect for an ass whooping, You tie the shirt at the back of your waist, pulling your hair into a ponytail and moisturizing your face.

“Babe, you okay in there?”

It’s the first time he’s said anything to you in at least two hours, and you know he’s prepping for this conversation on his end too, “Be out in a second.”

You pause at the door, pressing your forehead to the wood and trying to remain calm. You knew this would happen when you brought your son into the word; you risked losing him, losing everything because you were no longer fun, you were permanent.

But you loved him, from the first second you looked into his eyes to this moment now. It meant nothing as he was about to destroy your world.

With a deep breath and what you were convinced was courage, you turn the knob and yank the door open. 

The sight in your bedroom immediately catches you off guard as the candlelight flickers in your room, presenting your beautiful man in jeans low rested on his hips and roses in his hands.  Music is quiet and romantic, not his usual vibe, as he blows out a deep breath and stares back at you.

All defenses have been disarmed as you shut the bathroom door behind you, “What’s all this about you?”

Dean takes your hand and guides you to a seat on the bed; awkwardly resting the roses in your lap, he kneels in front of you and holds your hand within his clammy grasp, “This is what took all day to get together.”

Suddenly, you hate yourself. He tried to do something nice for you, so much so he’s made himself sick, “Babe, you don’t look good. You should probably lie down.”

Dean laughs off your concern, shaking his head, “No, I need you to listen. I’ve barely been able to pull this together now,” He holds up his thumb, amused by his own dumb luck, “I even burned myself trying to light shit up in here.”

“Honey,” You pout, putting the roses aside, and frame his face in your hands, “This is cute and sweet but totally unnecessary. I just wanted you to come home and be with us. None of this mattered…no matter how much I appreciate the gesture.”

“I’m trying to propose to you.” The words come out in a whisper, Dean’s hands latched onto your hips as your body goes numb, “I can’t wait to keep asking you, and I—I thought for sure when we had the baby, you’d know I wasn’t going anywhere. That you are family, and that’s—that’s all I want. But I was talking to Roman and…”

“So this is his doing?”

“No, this is all me.” Dean’s stare promises you the idea is his, the love staring back at you sedates your anxiety, “I love you. I want you to know that I will always come back, that there is no better mother for my son, and that I’m so thankful you’ve put up with my bullshit.”

You want to tell him that you have your own hang ups, not more than an hour ago and you swore he was cheating. Instead of confess, your run your hands into his fluffy hair and smile, “You put up with me too.”

“I can never tell you how happy I am, how much it means to me that my son is so cared for…loved.” He digs the ring out of his pocket, “Marry me.”

The arrangement is perfect, something you mentioned at least a year ago at some family function; you had half said it to appease your family and shut them up. You can’t speak so you nod until the band is secure around your finger, and he’s in your arms. From that moment on, you will never question his love for you or your son.


End file.
